"I want to ask you," he said, speaking slowly and thickly, "if you will be my wife?"Beatrice opened her lips to speak, then, seeing that he had only paused because his inward emotion checked his words, shut them again, and went on digging little holes. She wished to rely on the whole case, as a lawyer would say.
"I want to ask you," he repeated, "to be my wife. I have wished to do so for some years, but I have never been able to bring myself to it.
It is a great step to take, and my happiness depends on it. Do not answer me yet," he went on, his words gathering force as he spoke.
"Listen to what I have to tell you. I have been a lonely man all my life. At sea I was lonely, and since I have come into this fortune Ihave been lonelier still. I never loved anybody or anything till Ibegan to love you. And then I loved you more and more and more; till now I have only one thought in all my life, and that thought is of you. While I am awake I think of you, and when I am asleep I dream of you. Listen, Beatrice, listen!--I have never loved any other woman, Ihave scarcely spoken to one--only you, Beatrice. I can give you a great deal; and everything I have shall be yours, only I should be jealous of you--yes, very jealous!"Here she glanced at his face. It was outwardly calm but white as death, and in the blue eyes, generally so placid, shone a fire that by contrast looked almost unholy.
"I think that you have said enough, Mr. Davies," Beatrice answered. "Iam very much obliged to you. I am much honoured, for in some ways I am not your equal, but I do not love you, and I cannot marry you, and Ithink it best to tell you so plainly, once and for all," and unconsciously she went on digging the holes.
"Oh, do not say that," he answered, almost in a moan. "For God's sake don't say that! It will kill me to lose you. I think I should go mad.
Marry me and you will learn to love me."
Beatrice glanced at him again, and a pang of pity pierced her heart.
She did not know it was so bad a case as this. It struck her too that she was doing a foolish thing, from a worldly point of view. The man loved her and was very eligible. He only asked of her what most women are willing enough to give under circumstances so favourable to their well-being--herself. But she never liked him, he had always repelled her, and she was not a woman to marry a man whom she did not like.
Also, during the last week this dislike and repulsion had hardened and strengthened. Vaguely, as he pleaded with her, Beatrice wondered why, and as she did so her eye fell upon the pattern she was automatically pricking in the sand. It had taken the form of letters, and the letters were G E O F F R E--Great heaven! Could that be the answer?
She flushed crimson with shame at the thought, and passed her foot across the tell-tale letters, as she believed, obliterating them.
Owen saw the softening of her eyes and saw the blush, and misinterpreted them. Thinking that she was relenting, by instinct, rather than from any teaching of experience, he attempted to take her hand. With a turn of the arm, so quick that even Elizabeth watching with all her eyes saw nothing of the movement, Beatrice twisted herself free.
"Don't touch me," she said sharply, "you have no right to touch me. Ihave answered you, Mr. Davies."
Owen withdrew his hand abashed, and for a moment sat still, his chin resting on his breast, a very picture of despair. Nothing indeed could break the stolid calm of his features, but the violence of his emotion was evident in the quick shivering of his limbs and his short deep breaths.
"Can you give me no hope?" he said at last in a slow heavy voice. "For God's sake think before you answer--you don't know what it means to me. It is nothing to you--you cannot feel. I feel, and your words cut like a knife. I know that I am heavy and stupid, but I feel as though you had killed me. You are heartless, quite heartless."Again Beatrice softened a little. She was touched and flattered. Where is the woman who would not have been?
"What can I say to you, Mr. Davies?" she answered in a kinder voice.
"I cannot marry you. How I can I marry you when I do not love you?""Plenty of women marry men whom they do not love.""Then they are bad women," answered Beatrice with energy.
"The world does not think so," he said again; "the world calls those women bad who love where they cannot marry, and the world is always right. Marriage sanctifies everything."Beatrice laughed bitterly. "Do you think so?" she said. "I do not. Ithink that marriage without love is the most unholy of our institutions, and that is saying a good deal. Supposing I should say yes to you, supposing that I married you, not loving you, what would it be for? For your money and your position, and to be called a married woman, and what do you suppose I should think of myself in my heart then? No, no, I may be bad, but I have not fallen so low as that. Find another wife, Mr. Davies; the world is wide and there are plenty of women in it who will love you for your own sake, or who at any rate will not be so particular. Forget me, and leave me to go my own way--it is not your way.""Leave you to go your own way," he answered almost with passion--"that is, leave you to some other man. Oh! I cannot bear to think of it. Iam jealous of every man who comes near you. Do you know how beautiful you are? You are too beautiful--every man must love you as I do. Oh, if you took anybody else I think that I should kill him.""Do not speak like that, Mr. Davies, or I shall go."He stopped at once. "Don't go," he said imploringly. "Listen. You said that you would not marry me because you did not love me. Supposing that you learned to love me, say in a year's time, Beatrice, would you marry me then?""I would marry any man whom I loved," she answered.
